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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032392">do me a favour (break my nose)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafpile/pseuds/leafpile'>leafpile</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, Getting Together, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:42:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafpile/pseuds/leafpile</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tetsurou isn't sure exactly how many hours have passed, but this sucks. All of this sucks. All the sitting around and endless waiting, having to do nothing but just remain seated and stare at the wall or stare at Daishou—which on any other day, wouldn’t be such a bad view, but the bruises just make Tetsurou feel shitty—and he’s getting bored, in all honesty. He’s feeling restless. He’s starting to get tired.</p><p>(<i>in which kuroo and daishou are stuck spending a couple of hours in the emergency room together, and it may or may not be entirely kuroo's fault.</i>)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daishou Suguru/Kuroo Tetsurou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>do me a favour (break my nose)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>halloween is coming up and i have like two ongoing ~spooky~ fics that i really should be writing but i did this instead i suppose? i have brainrot &lt;3 anyways enjoy!!<br/>also minor <b>tw</b> for frequent but vague mentions of blood. its not too gross but just in case! be safe yall</p><p>(<i>title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MaFEHf34fCQ">do me a favour — arctic monkeys</a></i>)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I cannot fucking <em>believe</em> you did this to me.”</p><p>Tetsurou, for lack of a better response to Daishou’s incessant whining, simply groans loudly into his palms. The noise is muffled—not like it matters, given that the emergency room is full of general hustle and bustle, the occasional cough and sneeze, children crying—and he slowly drags his hands down his face before looking up at Daishou with a gaze that he only <em>hopes</em> can convey both tiredness and some vague semblance of sympathy, a worn-out apology that he’s repeated dozens of times now since the infamous <em>incident </em>first occurred.</p><p>“Seriously, I’m sorry,” he sighs, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. He’ll admit that he’s just a tad sick of saying it, just a <em>little</em>, because this really could be the thirtieth time. “Can you let it go, already?”</p><p>Apparently, that’s <em>not</em> the appropriate thing to say, because Daishou whips his head around so fast that Tetsurou thinks he might have heard something snap. It’s disgusting. He grimaces and hopes it has nothing to do with the blood pouring from his nose.</p><p>“Let it go?” Daishou hisses, leaning forward into Tetsurou’s space, his hand still holding a wad of crumpled tissues to his nostrils but not quite blocking the view of his snarl, blood smeared messily along his teeth, “you broke my fucking <em>nose</em>, you asshole!”</p><p>Above them both, the blindingly bright fluorescent lights start to flicker, and Tetsurou only huffs in annoyance, sinking further down into his uncomfortable plastic chair and splaying his legs a little as he folds his arms. He can practically <em>feel</em> the glare burning into the side of his head. He wishes, he fucking <em>wishes,</em> that looks could kill, then he wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid mess.</p><p>“First of all,” he starts, staring petulantly at the wall in front of him, idly scanning over a bulletin board, “I didn’t mean to, it was a complete accident and I’ve apologised a hundred times now—”</p><p>“I don’t <em>care</em>—”</p><p><em>“Secondly,”</em> Tetsurou interrupts, cutting off Daishou’s attempt at bickering, “if you already know what’s wrong, why did you want to come to the hospital? And why am I <em>such</em> a good friend that I let you bleed all over my new leather seats on the way here?”</p><p>A moment of silence passes between them when Tetsurou turns to look at Daishou, gaze briefly focusing on the dried blood splattered along his jaw, the dark bruising mottled across the entire bridge of his nose and starting to sink in around his eyes, and Daishou simply stares back with a look that says everything it needs; a look that Tetsurou has seen a<em> countless </em>number of times in his many years of being friends with Daishou Suguru, nothing but pure unbridled <em>annoyance</em>, and Tetsurou can do nothing at all except raise an eyebrow as he waits for the inevitable snappy response.</p><p>“I hate you,” is all Daishou says before dramatically turning away, practically swivelling a full ninety degrees in his chair so that his back is facing Tetsurou, and then, after a few seconds of mumbling to himself under his breath, he makes a small, barely-there whining noise.</p><p>Tetsurou furrows his eyebrows and stares at the back of his head.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Daishou huffs out a harsh breath before shuffling around again—<em>absolutely</em> <em>ridiculous, </em>Tetsurou thinks—and he frowns as he waves a hand vaguely towards his very colourful face, splotches of red and purple all over. Tetsurou would joke about it destroying his looks, make some kinda jab about how his one redeeming feature has been ruined, but he’d be lying. He’s still pretty. It’s not fair, really.</p><p>“My face hurts when I talk,” he sighs, and his hand shakes slightly when he lifts it to cautiously press at his cheek, immediately wincing and pulling away.</p><p>Tetsurou, for what it’s worth, <em>does</em> feel bad for him. He’s felt bad since the incident first happened, it’s not like he’s <em>completely</em> heartless. Daishou is his friend, at the very least. He does have <em>some</em> sympathy.</p><p>He also knows that Daishou isn’t one to accept his sympathy, always eager to bicker and argue because he refuses to acknowledge the simple fact that Kuroo Tetsurou is a good person (sometimes).</p><p>“So stop talking,” Tetsurou replies easily.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Daishou retorts, weakly glaring and flipping him off, and then he settles back into his chair, kicking his feet out like a child and almost sinking to the floor with an exhausted huff, “how long have we been here?”</p><p>Tetsurou hums as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.</p><p>“Thirty minutes, give or take.”</p><p>“And how long did the receptionist say to expect to wait?” Daishou asks, inspecting his nails and scratching aimlessly at the dried blood on his fingers.</p><p>“…At least three hours.”</p><p>Daishou’s responding groan is so loud that a handful of people turn their way, displeased, and Tetsurou smiles sheepishly at them in lieu of an apology.</p><p>“Fucking <em>fantastic</em>.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Waiting around in the emergency room with a whiny and disgruntled Daishou Suguru at his side was not how Tetsurou wanted—or had ever expected—to be spending his Friday night.</p><p>He doesn’t voice this complaint aloud, because every other time he’s mentioned being bored or joked about how he has a plethora of other things he could be doing right now, Daishou has quickly shut him up with a glare or a pointed finger and an agonisingly long lecture about how <em>“you’re the reason we’re even here!”</em> and <em>“you’re an asshole!”</em> and <em>“I hate you so much, Kuroo Tetsurou, you’re the bane of my existence and it’s totally not </em>my<em> fault that I wanted to play volleyball at eleven p.m. when it was too dark out to see properly, you’re the idiot here, not me!”.</em></p><p>That last one was a direct quote. Obviously completely genuine.</p><p>Tetsurou isn’t afraid to accept his share of the blame. He’s sure it’s probably a good thirty or forty percent, but absolutely no more than fifty. He refuses to be held <em>entirely</em> accountable for Daishou’s broken nose, or whatever else just so happens to be wrong with him. Daishou has to take at least some of the blame himself, because he <em>did</em> insist on playing volleyball with Tetsurou, late at night and without a proper light source in his backyard, so it’s not like Tetsurou can be forced into responsibility for the fact that he might have accidentally—<em>very</em> accidentally—spiked the ball into Daishou’s face at a relatively close range.</p><p>It had looked bad at the time, with only a blur of red that could be seen in the moonlight. It looks worse now.</p><p>He feels <em>so</em> fucking bad.</p><p>He’d apologised profusely all the way here, rambling nonstop as he shoved some tissues into Daishou’s face and quickly scrambled into his car, hands tapping anxiously against the wheel as he narrowly avoided speeding to the hospital, and it was only when they finally arrived did Daishou snap at him to <em>“shut the fuck up, already”.</em> He’s found himself apologising in every moment of silence, every time he looks over—because <em>fuck</em>.</p><p>It’s <em>bad</em>.</p><p>Daishou is quiet now, one hand still holding tissues to his nostrils and the other scrolling aimlessly through his phone, and Tetsurou takes him in properly during the rare moment of peace; there’s a bump to the bridge of his nose that Tetsurou can’t quite decipher as swelling or otherwise, given that the entire nose area of his face is beyond swollen and painted in streaks of dark bruises, all kinds of purples and reds splotched across his tan skin where there’d usually be light freckles and the occasional mole. He’s sporting two black eyes to go along with it all, and though Tetsurou has seen Daishou with a black eye before, it’s still somewhat unsettling.</p><p>He watches him pocket his phone and then lift his hand, quick and forgetful when he scratches at his nose—</p><p><em>“Fuck,”</em> he hisses, curling in on himself a little as he screws his eyes shut, and Tetsurou feels his own face ache in a weak sympathy pain.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, quiet, not reacting at all when Daishou glares at him, “can I take a look?”</p><p>Daishou says nothing for a moment, eyeing Tetsurou with something unreadable—though that could be blamed on the distracting bruises, honestly, because Tetsurou thinks he usually has a pretty good understanding of Daishou Suguru’s many levels of glares—and then he sighs.</p><p>“Sure, whatever,” he flops back into his seat, “it’s not like you could possibly make things any worse.”</p><p>Tetsurou offers a deadpan <em>“ha ha”</em>, and then slowly, hesitantly, inches forward to reach a hand out and swat Daishou’s away, pulling the wad of tissues away from his nostrils and being <em>beyond</em> thankful that the bleeding seems to have stopped at some point. He’s stuck now with a handful of bloody tissues and he grimaces. It’s not exactly the first time he’s had Daishou’s blood near him, they’ve gotten into their fair share of fights and stupid accidents when they were younger, but still, it’s not like it’s opportune. He doesn’t want this.</p><p>“I’m gonna, <em>uh</em>…” he gestures vaguely as he glances around for a trash can and then quickly gets up, spotting one near the wall, “yeah.”</p><p>He ignores Daishou’s little snicker as he walks away, throwing the tissues into the trash and then heading towards the small bathroom at the back of the emergency room, letting himself in and immediately washing his hands. He pauses before he exits, eyeing the tissue and thinking about the smears of dried blood around Daishou’s nose, and he takes a second to dampen some pieces before folding them all up into a neat little square and then leaving.</p><p>Daishou is sat twiddling his thumbs, literally, and Tetsurou flops back down into the seat next to him, their knees bumping together when Daishou shifts to face him without a single complaint. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, which isn’t all too surprising given the circumstance, but there’s still something vaguely off-putting about a peaceful Daishou Suguru.</p><p>Tetsurou carefully, cautiously, places his fingers on the underside of his jaw to keep his face still before he lifts the damp tissue—</p><p>“Why’s it wet?” Daishou narrows his eyes, “what’d you do to it?”</p><p>“It’s called water, Daishou,” Tetsurou laughs lightly, “not sure if you’ve ever heard of it, since all you seem to consume is soda and iced coffee—”</p><p><em>“Funny,”</em> Daishou drawls, a small hint of amusement evident in his tone and his lip twitching with a barely-there smile, “get on with it, already.”</p><p>He tries his best to be gentle when he starts cleaning the blood up, avoiding Daishou’s burning gaze, and his fingers are almost shaking with the nerves of trying not to apply too much pressure; he’s doing a fairly good job of it all, he thinks, until he apparently ghosts over a sore spot near his nose, and Daishou immediately flinches away with a little wince and a sharp hiss.</p><p>Tetsurou quickly pulls away.</p><p>“Sorry,” he offers, soft and genuine, and Daishou swallows before giving a slow nod.</p><p>His face is all cleaned up, thankfully, and Tetsurou trashes the tissue and then settles back in his chair. He takes a moment to take a proper look at the injury without the blood obscuring the view; it kinda looks worse now, somehow, fresh and clean but it only serves to brighten up the bruising, his black eye stronger on the left than on the right but both of them still dark and swollen. Tetsurou must pull <em>some</em> sort of face, he’s sure he’s grimacing, and Daishou only scowls in response—it’s a little weak, not fully there, but Tetsurou assumes it’s because his face hurts and he commends his attempt at trying.</p><p>“Stop looking at me like that,” he mumbles, “what’s the damage?”</p><p>A slow second passes. Tetsurou drums his fingers against his thigh as he thinks of something to say.</p><p>“You’ve looked better,” is all he manages.</p><p>Daishou sighs as he settles into his seat, arms folding across his blood-stained t-shirt.</p><p>“I’m going to ignore how backhanded that is.”</p><p>When Tetsurou lets out a little laugh at that, and Daishou offers the vaguest hint of a smile, he thinks maybe the night won’t be so bad after all. Maybe they’ll be out of here in no time. Maybe.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He was wrong.</p><p>He’s not sure exactly how many hours have passed, but this sucks. All of this sucks. All the sitting around and endless waiting, having to do nothing but just remain seated and stare at the wall or stare at Daishou—which on any other day, wouldn’t be such a bad view, but the bruises just make Tetsurou feel shitty—and he’s getting bored, in all honesty. He’s feeling restless. He’s starting to get <em>tired</em>.</p><p>There’s only so many arguments he can have with Daishou over which instalment of the <em>Ju-On</em> series was the best (the second grudge, for sure) or listen to him whine about being <em>“sorta hungry” </em>(Tetsurou is too, but he doesn’t say that), and it’s not like it’s late by all means but Tetsurou woke up surprisingly early this morning and then had a traumatic experience of accidentally breaking his friends nose, so forgive him for being more than a little worn out. Being glued to this impossibly uncomfortable chair isn’t helping much, either.</p><p>He finds himself yawning, loud and obnoxious, and then shuts his eyes for just a second. Just a minute. It’s not a big deal.</p><p>Daishou immediately punches him in the shoulder.</p><p><em>“Ow,”</em> Tetsurou whines, “what the fuck was that for?”</p><p>“I can think of at least ten reasons off the top of my head,” Daishou shrugs flippantly.</p><p>It goes eerily quiet between them for a moment, and Tetsurou eyes Daishou with a vague sense of confusion, intrigued by his silence until Daishou turns away, gaze fixed on the wall in front of him; Tetsurou can’t tell whether his cheeks are flushed or if it’s just the bruising.</p><p>“If you’re tired, you can take a nap,” he says, overly blasé, and Tetsurou shifts his gaze to the side as he glances around the emergency room.</p><p>“We’re… in the hospital.”</p><p>Daishou turns to stare at him with nothing but pure contempt, shaking his head like he can’t believe Tetsurou could really be this stupid—because Tetsurou has seen this same look hundreds of times over and he knows <em>exactly</em> what it means—and another drawn out beat of silence passes between them for a second, two, three—Daishou suddenly groans, annoyed, and shifts into a weak glare.</p><p>“You’re so—why do you make everything so fucking <em>difficult?”</em></p><p><em>“What?”</em> Tetsurou holds his hands up defensively, “I didn’t even do any—”</p><p>“I’m <em>offering</em>,” Daishou stresses, jaw clenched and eyes narrow, “for you to take a nap. There’s space to lie down, if you want.”</p><p>Tetsurou turns to look at the empty seats next to him, just enough that he could reasonably take up a couple of chairs without bothering anyone; he’d bend his knees and it’ll be uncomfortable but he’s going to be uncomfortable anyways, these little plastic chairs are not doing <em>anything</em> for his pre-existing back pains and his generic old-man aches, and he supposes he could take his jacket off to use as a pillow so his neck doesn’t hurt for the next twenty-four hours—he pauses then, thinking, and it takes him a moment but Daishou’s initial question finally sinks in, the offering for Tetsurou to take a nap, the tips of his ears turning red, and <em>ah</em>.</p><p>“Are you saying that I can put my head in your lap?”</p><p>Daishou doesn’t turn to look at him, his cheeks blossoming with an unmistakeable blush, now.</p><p>“I’m saying you can go fuck yourself,” he snaps, evidently embarrassed, and Tetsurou immediately grins, absolutely <em>enthralled</em> with the softer side of Daishou Suguru, always so enamoured and fascinated when he happens to exhibit a rare moment of kindness.</p><p>Tetsurou just hums, amused at the way Daishou folds his arms tightly across his chest, defensive, and then he pinches at his bicep to get his attention and waves his hand vaguely.</p><p>“Move, then, so I can rest for an hour.”</p><p>Daishou huffs dramatically, always the drama queen, and moves his arms aside while sinking a little further down in his chair. Tetsurou casually shuffles to lie down on the chairs next to him, bending his knees and slowly, almost hesitantly, rests his head atop Daishou’s thighs before tucking his hands neatly into the pockets of his jacket.</p><p>He lies still, peering up at Daishou’s face; the mismatch of colours along his skin, the soft and sweet pink of his cheeks fading into the dark purple of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips when he pouts—</p><p>“Stop staring at me,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the wall, “go to sleep before I shove you off.”</p><p>Tetsurou rolls his eyes and bites back a smile.</p><p>“You have bony thighs, man,” he jokes.</p><p>Daishou’s mouth twitches. Tetsurou grins even more.</p><p>“Shut <em>up.”</em></p><p>Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take very long for him to fall asleep, for reasons that Tetsurou isn’t sure he’s adequately prepared to explain; like how he’s done this several times before, sleeping in Daishou’s vicinity, curled up on the couch next to him or sprawled lazily in his bed, because he finds that there’s an inherent comfort that comes with being around him and Tetsurou doesn’t even <em>know</em> where to start with all of that.</p><p>Still, he wakes up eventually, not pushed to the floor like he was half expecting, but he’s in the same position he was before and his knees kinda hurt and his back aches and even with his eyes closed he can <em>feel</em> the fluorescent lights burning into his eyeballs. He’s a little disgruntled that they’re still here.</p><p>It takes him a second to register a new sensation, a hand atop his head, soft and gentle as fingers card through his hair, and Tetsurou tries not to move or make any sort of noise but he’s practically <em>melting</em>, feels his insides turning into jelly as Daishou idly plays with his hair. There’s a forbidden domesticity to it all and Tetsurou wishes they were anywhere but here, wishes that he had the guts to try and lie in Daishou’s lap when he’s been at his place, on the couch watching horror movies at two in the morning, but he’s also not sure he’d ever be able to restrain himself from pulling him down and kissing him senseless; he’s not sure something like that would fly in the public emergency room of the hospital.</p><p>(Tetsurou isn’t sure it’d fly either way, be it in the privacy of Tetsurou’s home or Daishou’s apartment, because he has absolutely no idea how Daishou feels about him, like, at <em>all</em>. He’s frustratingly impossible to get a read on.)</p><p>He makes a little humming noise to signify he’s awake, slowly lifting his hands to wipe his eyes and then groaning quietly, and Daishou yanks his hand away from his hair with such an impressive speed that Tetsurou can’t help but miss it. He ignores the vague longing feeling—willing himself to be emotional some other time—and clambers to sit up, stretching languidly when he’s back in his chair, legs out and arms high above his head. His loud yawn does nothing to hide the pop of his joints.</p><p>“Gross,” Daishou grimaces.</p><p>Tetsurou easily flips him off and settles into his seat.</p><p>“Are we really still here?” He whines, “how long was I out?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Daishou shrugs, glancing down at his phone, “an hour, maybe.”</p><p>Tetsurou groans again, impatient and so unfairly <em>bored</em>, and Daishou doesn’t hesitate to roll his eyes.</p><p>“Stop complaining,” he chastises, “I’m the one with the broken nose.”</p><p>“Listen, I’m <em>sorry</em>—”</p><p>
  <em>“Uh-huh—”</em>
</p><p>“Daishou Suguru?” A voice interrupts, loud and clear, and Daishou and Tetsurou both immediately look over towards the source of the voice to find a nurse, clipboard in hand, and Tetsurou whispers an overjoyed <em>“finally”</em>.</p><p>Daishou laughs under his breath as he gets up, turning to Tetsurou and staring at him for a moment, and then he points a finger.</p><p>“Don’t go anywhere,” he warns.</p><p>Tetsurou grins, amused.</p><p>“Why would I ever want to do that?”</p><p>Daishou visibly holds back a smile and flips Tetsurou off, sticking his tongue out for just a second, before following the nurse out of the room.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He had returned not long after he’d initially left, hands nestled deep in the pockets of his sweats as he rocked on the balls of his feet in front of Tetsurou, not moving to sit down; when Tetsurou had stood up, expecting to leave, Daishou had shook his head with a sigh and mumbled something or other about x-rays before shoving lightly at Tetsurou’s shoulder and motioning for him to follow along.</p><p>Tetsurou doesn’t know why he <em>had</em> followed, or why he had even let Daishou lead the way to begin with, in all honesty, because he has a horrible habit of getting lost and being shockingly incapable of figuring out directions—it was no surprise when they <em>did</em> inevitably get lost inside the hospital, indoors, a confined space of which they somehow still managed to end up in the middle of an empty hallway on the wrong floor with no clue as to how they got there.</p><p>Actually, that’s a lie, because Tetsurou knows exactly how they got there. He’s good with directions. He knew the right way and he had been pointing out every single sign and arrow along the way, all while Daishou—stubborn and unrelenting—had insisted that <em>he</em> knew the way.</p><p>He obviously did <em>not</em> know the way.</p><p>It took them an unreasonably long amount of time, filled with bickering and arguing and the occasional light-hearted shove to a shoulder, to eventually find themselves in the <em>correct</em> place: the x-ray unit.</p><p>“How long will this take?” Tetsurou asks idly, drumming his fingers against the edge of his chair, an underlying feeling of boredom already setting in.</p><p>“How am I supposed to know?” Daishou replies, reaching forward to nudge his hand against Tetsurou’s, prying his fingers away from his chair with a mumble of <em>“stop doing that”</em>.</p><p>Tetsurou does. He ignores the spark that runs up his spine with such a brief touch of skin, his cheeks warming slightly at something so fucking miniscule. He’s pathetic.</p><p>They’re luckily not waiting around for very long, which Tetsurou is thankful for not only because he just wants to go home and get some rest, but also because Daishou happens to be slumped lazily against his side, arms folded and head resting on his shoulder as he rambles on about some documentary he watched the other night; Tetsurou can’t deal with the apparent comfortable ease they’ve settled into while being here. His long-term crush on Daishou is getting unfathomably worse by the <em>minute</em>.</p><p>When Daishou is called in for his x-rays, Tetsurou is left to sit by himself, twiddling his thumbs as he waits, and he tries desperately to avoid letting his thoughts spiral into the disgusting mess that is his feelings.</p><p>Tetsurou has liked Daishou since, like, forever. Or maybe forever is a little bit of an over exaggeration, but he’s liked Daishou ever since they first met, and he’s <em>really</em> liked Daishou for a few years now; he can recall the exact moment that the final piece of the puzzle had snapped into place, the one random night that Daishou was staying at Tetsurou’s place and he’d borrowed one of his old shirts, and Tetsurou already knew by this point that Daishou was unfairly attractive, but seeing him lounging comfortably atop his couch and wearing one of his shirts was something like a peek into what could be, the domesticity that they could have—the domesticity that Tetsurou <em>wants</em>.</p><p>It was one thing at first to think of Daishou as attractive, nothing more than a simple appreciation of his undeniable beauty, and maybe it was another to vaguely flirt with him sometimes, but it was a whole new thing entirely to want to kiss him, to want to actually spend time with him and to hold his stupid hand and to go on dates with him sometime, or something.</p><p>Tetsurou is a little bit of a sap. He’ll admit it. He wants to be Daishou Suguru’s boyfriend, so what?</p><p>He’s sure that accidentally breaking your crushes nose with a volleyball probably isn’t the best way to get their attention. In fact, it might actually garner the complete <em>opposite</em> response, because Tetsurou has never exactly been sure whether Daishou likes him back or just simply tolerates him and laughs at his jokes out of pity sometimes, but he’s certain now that his chances might have just completely dissipated. He can’t say he blames Daishou, if that were the case; Tetsurou might have done some serious reconsidering on his feelings if <em>he</em> were the one with a broken nose.</p><p>(He’s lying and he knows it. Tetsurou could never stop liking Daishou no matter how hard he tried, because a hypothetical broken nose wouldn’t even be the worst thing they’ve been through, not after more than ten years together.</p><p>Tetsurou has seen Daishou at his lowest, when he’s weak at the knees and crying into his palms and when he’s so completely full of himself that he’s nothing but scathing words and sickeningly sharp smirks, he’s seen him with shaky hands and glassy eyes and his face pale with anxiety—he’s seen Daishou with a bruise that Tetsurou himself had put there, a matching one on his own jaw, because they were teenagers and young and stupid.</p><p>He’s also seen Daishou at his <em>best</em>, at his most prideful, he’s seen him genuinely happy and he’s seen it when they’ve been together, not only as kids but as adults; Daishou giving his rare dorky grin that shows his slightly crooked canine when Tetsurou tells a really bad joke, his cute laugh every time Tetsurou happens to trip over or do something typically clumsy, or when Tetsurou decides to buy him some of his favourite snacks just because he can and Daishou will stutter through a soft and gentle <em>“thank you”</em> that has Tetsurou falling just that little bit more in love with him, so completely hopeless and done for.)</p><p>Tetsurou discovers that he knows next to nothing about hospitals or how procedures work when Daishou reappears only ten or so minutes later, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the side of his neck as he obnoxiously turns his head and stretches.</p><p>“You’re gonna get superpowers now,” Tetsurou says as he approaches.</p><p>Daishou comes to a stop and pulls an adorably confused face as he glances down at him.</p><p>“Why on Earth would I—”</p><p>“Radiation,” Tetsurou supplies, helpfully.</p><p>Daishou hesitates for a moment, a minute of agonisingly awkward silence passing between them, and then he takes a single step back and wordlessly motions for Tetsurou to stand up.</p><p>“You know,” he muses, “if I <em>did</em> have superpowers, I wish it was the power to make you shut the fuck up.”</p><p>Tetsurou laughs so loudly that a couple of people in the waiting room immediately send glares his way, and he’d definitely be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the responding chuckle from Daishou, muffled slightly into his hand as he turns his face away. Tetsurou ignores the traitorous skip of his heartbeat and tries not to be too blatantly smitten.</p><p>They eventually, <em>finally</em>, manage to get back to the emergency room, after getting lost <em>again</em> despite Tetsurou’s insistence on leading the way and Daishou—because being stubborn out of spite is his forte—taking them through four wrong turns before admitting his defeat and letting Tetsurou guide them.</p><p>Daishou waves a hand dismissively as he mumbles something, a quiet <em>“this won’t take long, don’t bother sitting down”</em>, and then he’s gone, leaving Tetsurou to fidget awkwardly and linger near the wall as he simply waits. He never knew accompanying someone to the hospital would be so <em>dull</em>. He’s never been this bored in his entire life.</p><p>After a painful fifteen minutes of trying not to get in anyone’s way and debating whether he should just sit down or not, the eternal struggle of wasting time as he fights the dilemma of <em>“I could just sit down now, but what if he comes back the second I sit down and I have to get up again?”</em>, Tetsurou immediately perks up when Daishou returns. He shuffles away from the wall, avoiding the busy nurses and the people rushing around, and then he pauses, noticing the tape across the bridge of Daishou’s nose—he positively <em>beams</em>.</p><p>Daishou scowls in a pre-emptive warning.</p><p>“Stop it,” he snaps, “do not even <em>start</em>—”</p><p>“Oh man,” Tetsurou grins excitedly, leaning forward into Daishou’s space and lightly pressing at his nose, his hand quickly being smacked away, “what’d they do to you?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Daishou hisses, glancing down in a stupid attempt of looking at his own nose and then huffing in defeat, “it’s just a minor straight break. It’ll heal on its own in a few weeks, apparently, as long as <em>someone</em> doesn’t mess with it or break it again.”</p><p>Tetsurou ignores the jab and simply hums, pleased at the news, before giving Daishou’s face a casual once-over. It’s still just as swollen and bruised as it was when they first came in here, but at least it’s not bloody anymore, and the small bandage at least makes everything look a <em>little</em> better, in a weird way; Tetsurou still feels bad about it though.</p><p>“Come on, we can go,” Daishou yawns, shrugging one shoulder as he turns, “I’m so exhausted, man.”</p><p>Tetsurou nods in agreement—looking forward to finally going home and being able to relax, inevitably falling asleep on his couch as soon as he flops down onto it—and moves to head out of the emergency room, Daishou at his side.</p><p>If, for some reason or other, he has a brief lapse in judgement, be it tiredness or something else, and he happens to reach a hand out and rest it gently on the small of Daishou’s back, guiding him as the two of them weave through the hustle and bustle to step out into the fresh air—<em>if</em> he did this, Daishou doesn’t seem to respond at all, not even to shake him off or step out of his touch.</p><p>Tetsurou’s palm burns when he pulls away.</p><p>It’s dark out, the night sky sparkling with stars and the half-moon just barely illuminating the roads with a soft light, and the cool breeze that blows past is so welcoming and refreshing when compared to being cooped up inside the stuffy emergency room and the rest of the overbearingly warm hospital.</p><p>To his right, Daishou suddenly makes a small noise, something vaguely recognisable as annoyance, and Tetsurou glances over to find his arms folded tight across his chest and his ears tinged pink; he shrugs his jacket off, already wearing a hoodie underneath because he tends to wear a lot of layers for fashion purposes, and wordlessly hands it over to Daishou.</p><p>Daishou only blinks, staring at the jacket, and then shifts his gaze to stare up at Tetsurou instead. Tetsurou says nothing, shaking the jacket a little, offering, and it takes another minute before Daishou finally takes it.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says quietly, pulling it on, and he avoids looking over when he asks, “where’d we park?”</p><p>Tetsurou gestures vaguely towards the parking lot, a nondescript <em>“over there, somewhere”</em>, and Daishou doesn’t hesitate to take off walking. Tetsurou breathes out a little laugh, fishing his car keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, and he swings them idly around his finger as he easily jogs to catch up with Daishou.</p><p>The tips of his ears glow an unmistakable red in the moonlight.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In the near-silence of Tetsurou’s car, the radio playing faintly in the background isn’t nearly enough to distract him from a strange lingering awkwardness that he’s sure only <em>he</em> is feeling, considering Daishou is curled up comfortably in the passenger seat and is gazing languidly out of the window, seemingly unbothered and uncaring towards whatever random bout of weirdness Tetsurou is suffering with.</p><p>Tetsurou doesn’t know what it is. He just knows that every pass under a streetlight briefly highlights the bruising on Daishou’s face but it also draws attention to how naturally pretty he looks, the delicate shadows of his thick eyelashes and the sharp lines of his jaw and the tiny little dimple in his left cheek, and it’s all too <em>much</em>; Tetsurou has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road so as not to crash the fucking car and end up right back at the hospital. He’s had enough of the fluorescent lights and the non-stop noise and the weird smell to last him a lifetime, in all honesty.</p><p>“Hey,” he starts, almost hesitant in a way, and he doesn’t bother glancing over when he hears the recognisable rustle that is the fabric of his jacket moving, knowing that Daishou’s paying attention to him, “I really am sorry, about the nose thing.”</p><p>Daishou huffs out a little laugh, short and sweet, and in his periphery, Tetsurou catches him putting his dirty blood-splattered sneakers up onto the dash.</p><p>“I know,” he says easily, “if you actually meant to do it, you’d have just punched me instead.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Tetsurou leans over just enough to shove Daishou’s feet back down, “I haven’t even <em>thought</em> about punching you since the last time I actually did, when I was like, fifteen.”</p><p><em>“Aw</em>, are you going soft on me?” Daishou teases, evidently amused, and Tetsurou tries to ignore the burning in his ears, “I’ve definitely thought about punching you in recent years.”</p><p>And <em>there</em> he is, the infamous Daishou Suguru that Tetsurou knows and loves, the Daishou that Tetsurou has nothing but pure fondness for, absolutely hopeless and so obnoxiously head over heels when he glances across and finds Daishou smirking at him, knowing, <em>waiting</em>, almost hopeful for Tetsurou to take the bait; so he does, because <em>of course</em> he does, how could he not?</p><p>“You <em>have</em> punched me in recent years,” Tetsurou supplies.</p><p>Daishou hums. Tetsurou hears the static of the radio as Daishou starts fidgeting with the dials, and again, he leans forward to smack his hand away before continuing on.</p><p>“Last week you punched me in the arm because I dropped your sandwich, which you wrongly entrusted me to hold, because you <em>know</em> how clumsy I am. The week before <em>that</em> you hit me in the shoulder because I accidentally knocked your favourite mug off the counter, the ugly one—"</p><p><em>“See,</em> they were all well-deserved,” Daishou interrupts, his grin blatantly evident in his tone, “besides, I’d say we’re even now after you <em>broke my nose</em>.”</p><p>Tetsurou only rolls his eyes, overly fond, and laughs lightly.</p><p>They continue the rest of the drive back to Daishou’s place in a comfortable peace filled with too-loud music—after Daishou eventually managed to worm his way into connecting his phone to the aux—and with Daishou quietly singing along under his breath, occasionally interspersed with some of their usual stupid faux-arguing and with Daishou berating Tetsurou for apparently spending too much time drumming his hands against the wheel instead of driving safely. He’s not sure where Daishou has the room to comment on that, considering he can’t drive at all and has actually <em>failed</em> his test several times already, and Tetsurou is the only person ever willing to pick him up and drive him to <em>McDonald’s</em> at four in the morning.</p><p>When they finally pull up to the street outside Daishou’s apartment, there’s a sudden shift back to that same tense awkwardness that Tetsurou was feeling earlier, but he can’t quite pinpoint it this time, not sure why there’s a hesitant pause and neither of them seem to be making a move to leave.</p><p>Daishou unbuckles his seatbelt, moving only for a moment to unplug his phone from the aux, and then he goes still again, hand hovering above the inside door handle before he pulls away and scratches at his neck with a huff. Tetsurou opens his mouth—</p><p>“You can make it up to me, you know,” Daishou says, beating him to it, just a hint of something like <em>nervousness</em> seeping into his tone before he sits up straighter, waving a hand dismissively as he repeats Tetsurou’s words from before back to him, “if you really are ‘sorry about the nose thing’.”</p><p>Tetsurou pauses.</p><p>He turns, slowly, to glance over at Daishou, at the way he’s avoidantly staring out the window, idly picking at his nails without even looking, the slight colour change in his cheeks that Tetsurou is sure is blush; he swallows.</p><p>“Yeah?” He asks, struggling to raise his volume even in the small confines of his shitty car, feels like his voice is trapped in his throat, “what do you have in mind?”</p><p>There’s literally no reason for him to be as nervous as he is over nothing. This is <em>nothing</em>. Daishou is probably about to ask him for money or food or a ride somewhere, like he always does, and Tetsurou will say yes regardless because he’s a good friend and because he wants to, but that’s all this is. It’s nothing else.</p><p>“No more volleyball, that’s for fuckin’ sure,” Daishou laughs lightly, fussing with his short hair and then shrugging before he eyes Tetsurou strangely, somewhat <em>cautiously</em>, watching him carefully as he continues, “coffee?”</p><p>And <em>ah,</em> there it is, in the few seconds of silence that follow his nervous question: an unmistakeable flush of his cheeks, blooming a pretty red under the harsh glow of the car’s interior light, a subtle reaction that tells Tetsurou this <em>isn’t</em> nothing, that this is actually very much <em>something</em>; Tetsurou feels his fingers twitch as his palms get clammy.</p><p>He needs to be sure about this, because he’s been previously known to misread things and it’s been shockingly embarrassing for everyone involved. His ego can take the hit if he’s wrong, it’s not a big deal.</p><p>(His emotions, on the other hand, he’s not so sure about. He thinks his heart might hurt for a <em>very</em> long time if he happens to be wrong here.)</p><p>“Are you asking me out?”</p><p>Daishou’s face quickly flickers through approximately six different emotions in the span of a few seconds, of which Tetsurou could distinctly make out his trademark scowl followed by a gawk of pure confusion, and he seems to have settled on a casual and unashamed <em>confidence</em>; his cheeks are still mottled with a gentle pink underneath his dark purple bruises and black eyes, a sharp contrast, but Tetsurou thinks he’s just as beautiful as he always is, perhaps even <em>more</em> beautiful in this soft moment of confessions and hesitant vulnerability.</p><p>“Yeah,” he confirms, and then, because he just can’t ever seem to help himself, he tilts his head with a smug little grin and tacks on a teasing, “idiot.”</p><p>Tetsurou beams so wide that he thinks his mouth might split at the corners. Daishou only rolls his eyes in response but it doesn’t deter Tetsurou from noticing the twitch of his cheek, the way he’s blatantly holding back a dorky smile of his own.</p><p>“Then sure, yeah, we’ll go out sometime,” Tetsurou nods, tapping at the steering wheel almost excitedly, “I’d like that.”</p><p>Daishou nods back, an oddly endearing gesture, and then he offers a casual <em>“I’ll call you”</em> before letting himself out of the car. Tetsurou watches him walk up the path, and then he suddenly blinks, quickly sliding the window down and leaning over to the passenger side.</p><p>“Hey!” He shouts, briefly forgetting how late it is, lowering his volume a little as Daishou spins around, “that’s my jacket!”</p><p>Even from inside the car, so far away from where Daishou stands halfway up the path, Tetsurou can’t miss the obnoxious grin on his face.</p><p>“I know!” He pulls the oversized hood up, flipping Tetsurou off, and then shoves his hands into the pockets and turns away, jogging up the path and disappearing through the door of his apartment block.</p><p>Tetsurou lets his head thump against his steering wheel with a ridiculously wistful sigh.</p><p>He’s so <em>fucked</em>.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When they’re hanging out in Daishou’s apartment a few days later, watching a shitty B-list horror movie after their coffee date, when Daishou is forcing Tetsurou to sit up properly and get out of his lap because he’s <em>“too heavy”</em>, Tetsurou huffs a mock-offended <em>“fine”</em> and slumps down next to him before easily intertwining their fingers. There’s a gentle shift of the atmosphere between them, then, and Tetsurou eyes Daishou with nothing but pure reverence; the green and yellow bruising settled across the bridge of his nose, the pretty flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks slowly, the soft curves of his cheeks and the sweet pink of his lips—Tetsurou leans forward at the same time that Daishou closes the gap.</p><p>It takes all of <em>two</em> seconds before their noses bump, after the briefest press of lips, and Daishou immediately pulls away with a sharp hiss.</p><p>“Oh my God, Kuroo, you jackass,” he whines, “my fucking <em>nose, ow.”</em></p><p>Tetsurou ends up laughing so hard that Daishou pushes him off the couch and onto the floor, and he’s delegated to staying down there for the entire rest of the night.</p><p>He really doesn’t mind it so much when Daishou’s fingers eventually settle into his hair.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>(They manage to make it work barely even a week later, Suguru dragging Tetsurou aside with a needy mumble of <em>“fuck it”</em> and pulling him down into a sudden kiss, taking the lead so as not to bump their noses again; Tetsurou is content to let him do whatever he wants, just so long as he gets to keep his hands resting gently on the soft skin of Suguru’s hips, thumb idly drifting back and forth over the velvety indentations of faded stretchmarks, and he finds it almost impossible to stop himself from smiling happily against the mouth pressed to his.</p><p>He honestly never expected—literally <em>never</em>, not even in a million years—that accidentally breaking his crushes nose with a volleyball would have been the final trigger needed to set the wheels of their relationship into motion, but he figures maybe, just <em>maybe</em>, it might have been worth it after all.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ive actually broken my nose three separate times but i didnt go to the hospital for like any of them so im making this up, my bad. inaccuracy is my forte. but thank you so much for reading!!!! find me on <i><a href="https://twitter.com/cryptozoologys">twitter</a></i> mayhaps and have a lovely day/evening/night!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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